


Danger Days Ficlets

by Volrosso



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Genderfluid Character, Multi, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-02-25 08:13:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2614676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Volrosso/pseuds/Volrosso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By tumblr user mgmks<br/>Exactly what it says on the tin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Brother

"I know" is probably the worst thing Gerard could have said in this situation, but it's the truth, and it's the first thing that slips out, unbidden and weighed down with... Whatever it is. He's been waiting for this, ever since the tearful revelation of _I like girls_. That was years ago, and he's since been told that everyone else is equally as good in her eyes.

He's known since before he's sure she can remember, it's a truth bound as tightly as her chest, woven with panic over normal bodily functions and bruised and broken ribs passed off as the negative results of fights and squabbles. But Gerard's sweet little sister isn't the type to get into fights, and the bruises on her back aren't from any punches anyone's ever thrown, he made sure of that. He interrogated every last person she claimed to have hurt worse than they hurt her, and any marks on her body were not their doing at all. 

He's seen more and more of it as she gets older, and she hunches her shoulders and steals other people's clothes because hers fit too well and she hates it. Gerard can spot it- has been able to spot it for years- the self hatred that exists just underneath the skin that he could never truly dispel. Not with kind words and repeated assurances, not with all the pseudo-philosophical self-acceptance speeches in the entire world. It's something beyond him, something that came rushing out of her mouth in a _we're probably gonna die in a minute_ revelation, volume high and tears in her eyes. He wishes he couldn't see the expression, it's almost too dark in the back room for it, tiny beams of harsh moonlight creeping their way through cracks in the boards over the windows. 

And then the silence, adding weight to the heavy desert air that sits stifling in Gerard's lungs until he remembers how to breathe again.

Now it's been said, now it's real, and now Gerard's little brother is staring at him, shaking with outrage or anxiety or both, choking back tears because he's been taught his entire life that crying is for girls and that's the last thing he wants right now. He's done being a girl. He's left that tiny little part of himself behind and now it's done, it's over. 

And all Gerard can do is stand in the silence, fighting to find the words lodged somewhere between here and there because he supposes this is supposed to be a big deal. But it's not a big deal, not to him anyways. Does that make him a horrible person? He can't find the words to say as they stand in the back room of this nearly abandoned building wondering if it'll be the people out to get them or the stifling hot air that will get them first, and if they'll make it until morning. What happens if they do make it out? What happens if they survive? What will they do, where's there to go from here? 

"What should I call you then," is what Gerard manages, voice shaking only slightly as his brother hugs him tight, as he buries his face into his ratty shirt and sobs. They're trying to be quiet. Gerard whispers meaningless reassurances, wrapping him up in his worn leather jacket. Even with that all out on the table, they still might die. They sit there for a long while after, huddled in behind a bookshelf and counting in time with the heavy boots over the rotting wood floors.

When silence falls once more at long last, they nip out into the dark hand in hand while Gerard goes over the name he's been given over and over in his head. Michael is an interesting enough name, sure. _He who is like god_. Nobody out here believes in god though, not anymore, but the name sits sweet and heavy on his tongue when he says it out loud, and his brother smiles for the first time in a long time.

In the weeks that followed, they both changed a lot, even if it wasn't some brilliant training montage of improvement, it was the tiny little subtle things, the hair dye that stained the back of Gerard's neck for days to follow. It looked like blood, and scared him every time he noticed it before he remembered it.

And Mikey improved his aim with the guns they'd scavenged. Talked a lot more, even started smiling a lot more, becoming confident in his new persona.

They found better clothes that would stop sticking so badly to Mikey's skin, things that could help him feel more at home in his own body. Gerard finds one of those binder-y things and almost gets mauled by an angry dog in the process. Their constant misadventures slowly stop happening as frequently, until finally they're getting good at living out here, like they've stopped surviving and have started living.

A name change is, once again warranted.

By the time they come across other human beings out in the desert, they know their way around effectively, they've found a vehicle, and adopt a place of operations, and nobody thinks twice about calling Kobra Kid sir when they see him.

The only thing that matters now is staying alive, everything else is secondary.

 


	2. Brontide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's the dealio: 
> 
> I didn't like the way I started the trans kobra fic. I thought of an even better way to start it, so instead of continuing this train of thought I'm writing one that's much longer and much better. I didn't wanna delete Brother though, so I'm gonna leave it on here and post the other ficlets I've done! 
> 
> I hope nobody's too disappointed with this I'm sorry,,,

The rumble woke him up, the sharp ache of panic setting in his chest as Tommy gripped his shoulder and shook, invisible until he lit up in the white flash of lightning, a silhouette of unruly curls and skin and bone. 

“S’just thunder,” he said, giving D’s shoulder a squeeze. He didn’t let go until he was sure that D wasn’t going to freak out. This was hard to get used to, after all, running around in the desert as bombs fell all around you. D shivered when the thunder sounded again, quieter this time as the storm petered out. It was instinct at this point. 

“You wanna go watch the rain? Who knows when it’ll happen again,” Tommy said, just loud enough to be heard over the rain. DJ, by some miracle, was still asleep. Though she was always the first to complain about the accommodations, she was also the first one down for the count when they got a minute to rest. 

D nodded uselessly in the dark. He didn’t trust his voice until his heart had slowed down just a little bit, until the panic had ebbed and he didn’t feel like they were under fire. 

He stood shakily and Tommy led him out. 

Dracs didn’t care much for the rain so it wasn’t all that risky. There could be some still lurking out there, but Drac ray guns sometimes had a funny way of reacting to water, as they’d learned when DJ’s pistol went on the fritz and nearly fried her hand in the middle of a firefight. It had cost an arm and a leg at a swap meet to replace, even with Tommy’s masterful bargaining. 

The Dracs would be getting lazy too, now that their enemies were going down left right and centre in a hail of napalm strikes and bombs of every flavour. They wouldn’t be trying to brave the weather for a couple of lone desert rats.

D wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to have down time with Tommy anyhow, not if half the squads in the city were on their doorstep. He was good company, as much as he liked to pretend he wasn’t. He sat with D on the porch of the wrecked house with the leaky roof and watched the rain when the white light lit it up, otherwise there was nothing to watch but darkness. For a moment, D didn’t think about all the terrible things that could be lurking out there, he just focused on the quiet. It was peaceful. He felt safe. 

“You better not be thinking too hard.” Tommy bumped D’s shoulder. He was probably smirking. He had his Smirking voice on. 

“When am I not?” Relaxation never lasted too long around here, D’s head would get filled with memories of the things he’d seen if he wasn’t distracted, of the fire and the blood and the ringing in his ears, the bodies of the people he’d run out here with missing arms and legs- heads, is some cases, lying at his feet-

“It’ll be the death of you,” Tommy said, slinging an arm around his shoulder, giving him something to focus on. The people who were still alive were important too, this was a reminder. “You’ll go down in history. We’ll write songs about you. Double D Defies Death.” 

“Shut up, man. You’re ruining the mood.” D elbowed Tommy in the side as he snickered, but he stopped, and they sat pressed together, listening to the rain. 

It was very calming, in a way. A reminder that they were here and they were alive, Tommy said, and D got on his case for being sentimental and nearly incited a wrestling match then and there. Tommy didn’t wake him up when he fell asleep against his shoulder and his dreams were full of rain and new beginnings.


	3. When's the last time you went on a date?

Tommy is _not_ easy to deal with at all. He’s sort of a spoiled princess when they start out, he’s been sort of a spoiled princess since. The desert does nothing to dry out his incessant need to bitch about everything. He isn’t conditioned the way the rest of them are, sure, but that’s no excuse goddamn it he needs to suck it up and _deal_.  

D’s not really sure why anyone even _lets_ him keep Tommy around. DJ’s been joking about putting a bullet in his head. She says she won’t, because _they have not a lot of bullets and too many guns that use bullets_. The future is now, bullets are a dying breed and DJ protects hers like a dragon. A dragon that hoards bullets. Mad Gear says they should duct tape Tommy’s mouth shut when he starts complaining about the heat. Again. But they have _not a lot of duct tape, you fucking moron,_ and that’s that.  

It’s never been easy with Tommy, not since they met. Tommy’s not even a person who Dr. D could get along with. Not that they do get along, but Tommy is less angry at him than anyone else in the group. And whatever, there are worse people to have on your team. He’s smart, he knows his way around the Zones and he’s a help at swap meets. He’s also a lethal shot once his hands stop shaking after he kills something. 

Tommy’s intolerable. He’s stubborn, and he’s usually right about everything, which is even worse. He starts screaming in different languages when they really piss him off, he knows like four, the fucker. He’s punched D in the jaw more than once, maybe he deserved it but whatever. Violence is never the answer. DJ told D that once before they went out to shoot people.  

But yeah, D likes the way Tommy looks at sunset, vulnerable and scared for just a moment before he remembers himself. Like an actual fucking _person_ and not a service droid in the city, cold metal and silicone and fake smiles, fake emotions. Tommy has a _lot_ of fucking emotions, if he’d just let them _show_ a little more maybe they’d get somewhere. 

And he’s okay looking too, sure, whatever. Tommy’s no fuckin’ prize but his smile is positively lethal when it’s real and genuine, when his eyes get all crinkly D wants to shoot himself in the head, how the fuck did someone like that end up in this place.

The world is literally falling down around them, burning down, slipping through their fingers, but sometimes that doesn’t seem so bad because Tommy’s around, drawing symbols in the dirt in front of the bunker they’re crashing at while DJ and Maddy and Newsie talk business down there with some green haired punk from Zone 3.  

That’s why D doesn’t feel bad. He feels a little sick maybe. Could be butterflies, could be the fact that he hasn’t eaten anything in two days. Who’s to say. The sun’s almost down, the light is almost dead. 

Soon they won’t be able to see and the paranoia will set in, but D is fine for now. He watches Tommy for a moment before he’s gotta wreck the peace. “You look distant. I hope it’s not shell shock.”

“I’m stuck with you, that’s worse than shell shock,” Tommy grumbles.   

This does nothing but make D even more determined to bother him. He sprawls out on the dirt, leaning his head on Tommy’s knee, hoping there’s no scorpions around. 

“You’re so cold, Tommy gun. What happened to us?” D reaches up and pokes him in the chin. A bad idea, because Tommy looks down and D’s fucking heart is going crazy, what a horrible idea this was. He can’t look away, can only stumble through the rest of the interaction. Or drop dead. Cardiac arrest. What a way to go.  

Tommy shakes his head. His face looks weird in this light. Not bad, never bad, just weird. “The world ended, you fuck. Did you not get the memo?”

D rolls his eyes instead of responding, like acting casual will get Tommy to stop looking at him funny. “You oughta treat me better or I’ll leave you. Better yet, let Maddy shoot you in the face.” 

Tommy snorts and goes back to drawing in the sand. D sits up and smacks his arm. “I’m serious! You have no time for me anymore.”

Tommy’s smiling at the ground. Fucking disgusting. D wants to throw up. Maybe punch Tommy in the stupid face. His chest hurts. “Shut the fuck up,” Tommy tells him.  

“I have needs, motherfucker. When’s the last time we went on a date? You didn’t even remember my birthday.”  

“Happy birthday, Doctor Death Defying, you get the fucking apocalypse.” Tommy throws his hands up, gesturing grandly to the endless desert around them, the orange glow off in the distance that has little to do with the sunset. 

“That’s not what I asked for. I asked for my bandanna back,” D snaps, kicking dust at Tommy until he gives in and stands up, putting him in a headlock. An affectionate headlock. Or, D hopes it’s affectionate. 

Tommy lets him go after a moment, and D locks his arms around his waist because he’s not quite done pissing him off yet. Tommy doesn’t throw him off or flail until it’s impossible to hang on, he just stands there, and D buries his face against his jacket. 

It’s so quiet here, the only thing slicing through the silence is Mad Gear being too loud and the sound of rumbling in the distance. Could be thunder, could be explosives, who fucking cares. 

“You got somethin’ to say to me,” Tommy says quietly when D tightens his grip, just because he can and he should enjoy this while it lasts. 

Maybe he should, maybe he shouldn’t. Getting sentimental in the desert doesn’t seem like a good idea, saying nothing is better when you could ruin the team and lose your best friend if things go south. 

So D lets go and gives one of Tommy’s curls a tug before gathering up his gear to head down and join in whatever bullshit plan they’re brewing in the basement.

“I guess we won’t shoot you yet, amigo,” he says before he goes, saluting Tommy. “You’re alright.”      


	4. They're Okay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> self indulgent pining

Things are different now. Disorganized, harder to hold on to. Chaos is easy to handle when you’ve got it ground under your heel, when you’re the one in control. That’s what it is in the City, just a spark of rebellion under the strict, stifling hand of the authority. Off the grid it’s everywhere, it’s hard to focus now that things are going wrong, now that everything’s not perfect all the time, and it takes getting used to but you get used to the silky smooth feeling of the world slipping through your fingers as the fire blazes brighter with every air strike. 

After three or four trips down the hill anything can be a comfort, after five or six you have to ramp it up. In that, he only felt alive pouring his pills down the sink, earning himself ten hours of freedom and another eternity spent staring at white walls. After six trips, after six trips and an escape, what’s there to do but lie in the dirt and stare at the sky? 

The desert brings its own challenges. It’s nothing like the big white building but it means a lot of reflecting what other people want to see right back out of them, and being empty isn’t so bad when you can simply take parts of other people, things people like, make them your own. If people like you they stay. If you stay on script they stay, but off the grid of Battery City people don’t speak the same language. It’s a struggle to play the part they want when he’s not sure what they’re asking. The key is smiling, people like that. Not too broad. Show them yes, my head’s screwed on right. I’m fine.

And he’s fine. 

The world is too big now, and it’s a little intimidating. It’s never going to end. And some things make it easier to stop sounding like, like, like a broken record, like a broken record, some things make it easier to deal with. Music is the safest. Friends are a close second. They’re unpredictable as he is, he doesn’t know when they’re mad, or why they’re mad when they start yelling. They make no sense. But he loves them. A thing about the desert is that you’re never alone. The days down the hill were cut up into quarters and halves by visits from the Kid, but half the time it was Mad Gear sitting by himself, waiting, thinking about nothing. Alone. There’s nothing worse than being alone, that’s what got to him in the end. What made him want to hit his head off the wall and scream and cry, being alone is the worst possible thing. 

It’s fine, out here. There’s animals in the desert, even when everyone is gone. There are people he doesn’t understand. They’re nice to watch. When they’re happy, he’s happy, it’s easy to fall into their patterns, and learn their language, and pick off the parts of them that he loves so he can keep them. Three of them, only three of them make him feel like he’s not an alien. One of them makes him anxious- or some feeling like that. 

DJ says it’s a stupid crush he needs to get over, and Mad Gear is sure he will, because he doesn’t fancy feeling like he’s going to keel over and die any time D smiles. He doesn’t like what it does to his head, all those weird thoughts, the moths in his stomach- butterflies are too nice a word these are erratic and they’re trying to kill him obviously. His heart can’t take it. 

And when it’s the two of them alone the only time they ever are, sprawled out in the dirt staring up at the sky, sometimes Mad Gear can only faintly see his face in the moonlight, silver, glowing, he’s always smiling. Always happy, until he’s not. He stops sometimes, you can see everything that’s going on in his pretty little head written all over his face. You can read all about the bombs, and the fire. You can do that with most people but D’s bad at dealing with these things. His face isn’t set in stone like Tommy’s, he doesn’t get mad the way DJ does. He shows it. 

And it’s sad. Mad Gear takes his face in his hands and starts talking, and that works. It doesn’t matter what he’s talking about. Distractions make this shitty little world go on, if you can throw a sheet over the disasters you’ve seen you can march on past them for a little while. Which is what they do. 

And they’re fine.

But at night, everything’s perfect. In the morning he’s awake, he’s aware, it’s easier to see things. DJ says things like this are supposed to be dramatic, and she reads a lot more books so maybe they are. She says everyone loves the underdog. She says love triangles are funny as hell to watch, but she really feels for him. Mad Gear doesn’t know what that means. He does know that it makes his chest hurt when Tommy’s around, makes him feel sick and ugly. He doesn’t want to feel like that, he left that person in the newspaper print city, but Tommy fills his mouth up with poison and cuts him up in a way he’s only just beginning to understand. DJ says it’s jealousy, Mad Gear says it’s just a fact of life, that people like people like Tommy, people who walk and talk and act like human beings. Mad Gear wouldn’t wish himself upon anyone. That would be cruel. You don’t need to read a lot of books to know that. 

Mad Gear knows he wants to lie in the dust and let the scorpions take him sometimes, when they’re too close, when they’re touching, when D and Tommy are talking. They start laughing, D’s the only person who can make him laugh like that. Everyone else has tried. Days pass, weeks go by, the divide is there glaring him in the face but he’s still trying to patch it up, still trying to fend off this inconvenient attraction. Nobody needs it. Nobody wants it, least of all him. It’s isolating. It makes him bitter, he’s tired of fighting with Tommy for stupid reasons because his brain is screaming that they’re rivals, that he should be fighting this losing battle, should be trying for something that’s just not going to happen. Mad Gear is as much of a realist as someone with his grip on reality can be, and that’s another fact of life. It’s not going to happen. 

So he swallows his tongue and rewrites the scripts, he’ll be a character who’s nice to Tommy, not one who wants to punch himself in the stomach any time he feels inferior, any time he wants to say something. He keeps that to himself. DJ says it’s sad, he’s fine with it. It’s easier this way.

Sometimes when it’s night and everything is quiet though, when it’s just the two of them, he likes to pretend that he could say something and it would go over well. He’d be happy. Sometimes that gets overwhelming, makes him feel warm all over, makes him want to smile like an idiot. That’s what he’ll miss when they’re on different sides of the divide. That’s okay. It was always going to end like that.

And he’ll be fine. 

“You think we’ll die tomorrow,” D asks him every night, right before he gets up and dusts himself off to go sleep. Mad Gear turns his head to the side, D’s face is all lit up in silver and he’s smiling again. It would be nice to kiss him maybe but Mad Gear’s not really sure how you do that. It would be nice to hold hands or something but that would be awkward probably. Too obvious. 

But still, he thinks about it. He thinks that maybe they will die tomorrow. Maybe he could say something, maybe he could do that because maybe he’d be shot in the head tomorrow, lost out in the desert. He almost convinces himself to say what he wants. The words are too heavy, for the most part. He gets tongue tied. 

“Nah,” is usually what he goes with. “We’re too fuckin’ stubborn for that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Let it be known that this is something I dreamed up at like 2 in the morning  
> Let it also be known that I plan on doing more research for Danger Days and adding more when I stop being such a horrible procrastinator
> 
> All the Pretty Girls played as I was finishing this.


End file.
